Ingenuous
by poisontaster
Summary: Ingenuous: Lacking in cunning, guile, or worldliness artless. Openly straightforward or frank candid. See Synonyms at naive. Obsolete. Ingenious. The problem, Baltar realizes, is that he doesn’t have any friends.


Ingenuous: Lacking in cunning, guile, or worldliness; artless. Openly straightforward or frank; candid. See Synonyms at naive. _Obsolete._ Ingenious.

I.

The problem, Baltar realizes, is that he doesn't have any friends.

Well, _he's_ never really had much in the way of friends—after all, who can _really_ keep up with Gaius Baltar, thrice Magnate winner—but it's not as if the people who _called _themselves his friends had known that.

How does the saying go? _Knowledge is only as good as those you can persuade to hear it._ Or put another way, it's not _what_ you know, it's _who_. At University, Baltar had known _everybody._

Really, it's just common sense. An example: Sahndat, his thesis advisor, had clearly had it in from him from the very first. He'd refused to even contemplate the brilliance of young Gaius's theories. Befriending his wife, Alianor—a rather plain but _exceedingly_ grateful woman—was only good tactics.

Alianor was the one who let him know when his advisory sessions were inexplicably rescheduled or when his classes were going to be audited. It was…truly regrettable when Sahndat was forced to resign in the wake of his wife's scandalous affair, but really, there were reasons those propriety clauses were put into the professor's contracts in the first place.

But the _point_ of this little trip through his memories is that he's in _desperate_ need of allies if he's going to avoid little faux pas like the Shelley Godfrey situation. Gods, what a nightmare, _that_ had been. In any case, he's not content to wait on the benediction of the God of a woman who lives only in his head.

Because he suspects, whether it's one mythical God or many, they only help those who help themselves.

And Gaius Baltar's always been good at that.

II.

Dee puts up with a lot of things from a lot of people. She's patient. Diligent. You have to be, to run a board as large as the one on Galactica, even before everything went to hell and she's suddenly coordinating not only Galactica's communication, but pretty much everything and everybody in their ragtag fleet. So something has to be pretty awful for her to take umbrage.

Dr. Baltar, however, is getting really close.

"I can't help it, my dear, your loveliness is simply too distracting for me to go on like this."

"Do you find this is an approach that works with a lot of women?" she asks sharply and pulls her fingers out of his. She gives him her second best glare, the one that usually sends the recipient backing hastily away.

Baltar looks hurt. "Well, _yes_, actually. Should I take that to mean it's not working with you?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Hmmm." He purses his lips. "I suppose a simple 'well then, let's frak', will get me nowhere as well?"

"You suppose correctly," Dee answers through gritted teeth.

Baltar cocks his head at her. "Well, you're not _gay_ are you? Because I assure you, I don't mind at all. I'd find it rather titillating, actually…"

"Doctor!" Best glare, this time; the one that her grandmother said could set fire to the curtains.

"No. Well. This is rather embarrassing. Have I mentioned that I'm the Vice President?"

Dee sighs. "Many times."

"And that doesn't change your mind even a teensy, weensy bit?"

"No."

"Well, frankly, Officer Dualla, I'm at a loss." Baltar throws up his hands. "I mean, I am well and truly _stunned_. This is simply an intolerable state of affairs; you realize that, don't you? I mean, I can't go around knowing that there's a woman out there that is so completely and utterly resistant to my charm."

"And yet, I think you'll live."

"It only makes you more attractive, you know. Unconquered territory, and all that." He nods wisely, eyes wide. "I expect now, I'll be mooning all about the Galactica, following you everywhere you go and begging for you to take me in. There's really only one solution, you know."

"And what's that?" She scowls at him, but he seems as immune to it as he was to the glare.

"Well, _sleep with me_, of course! Then I'll have you out of my system."

Dee finally can't hold it back any more and she rolls her eyes and laughs.

III.

This is definitely going to take more work.

IV.

"I don't know what you're expecting to accomplish with this, Gaius." Long precise nails drag deliciously up the back of his thigh, each digit a separate and exquisite line of pleasure/pain. "Have they not proven time and again they'll turn on their own at the least provocation? Only God can truly help you, Gaius, not these…unreliable implements."

"Funny how you weren't nearly so vocal in your objections when it was Lieutenant Gaeta I was talking to," Baltar observes.

"At least I could be sure your interest in him was for tactical and not prurient reasons," she answers coldly. Then she sighs. "Oh, Gaius, you'll never change, will you?"

He strokes his forefinger thoughtfully over his lips as he watches Dualla—Dee, they call her Dee—stride away. _If she looks back, you've got her. If she looks back, you've got her._

She looks.

"As I recollect, my dear," he says, turning to look into her cool, disapproving eyes, "my…appreciation of the fairer sex is what you once said you loved about me."

V.

"…don't know, Dee. He's a little skinny, but I sure wouldn't kick him out of my rack." Kat grins salaciously, an effect ruined by the mouthful of green gelatin showing through her teeth.

"Oh, that's disgusting," Dee groans, and shoves Kat in the shoulder.

"The gelatin or the sentiment?" Maddie Pryor, who works Maintenance, asks.

"Both, and don't you start too," Dee warns. But the truth is, she _has_ thought about it, much to her dismay. Billy…well, Billy hasn't yet screwed up his courage to…well, _screw_, and she's finding that a life lived in the constant fear of death is a pretty damn good aphrodisiac. She's half ready to frak Lee to the floor, if that's what it takes. "He's the Vice President."

"That's not saying much, is it?" Kat rolls her eyes. "'Sides, didn't stop Starbuck."

"A black hole couldn't stop Starbuck," Maddie retorts.

"Okay, no need to be catty," Dee says absently, but her heart isn't in it.

VI.

The thing about Petty Officer Dualla is that she's an eminently practical woman. Even her hair is no-nonsense. There are two ways into the heart of a woman like that.

The first one he rejects out of hand. He has neither the time nor patience for a long and drawn-out courtship, diligently convincing her of a love he doesn't feel in the least. Dualla may be young, but she isn't in the least stupid. Not to mention the potential for back-fire.

The second route is also the more enjoyable. Practical women are seldom treated with the breezy silliness of their more flighty counterparts. It doesn't, however, mean they're immune to its blandishments. In fact, in his rather wide experience, he'd venture to say it's just the opposite. Familiarity breeds contempt; the absence creates a rather curious vulnerability.

_She_, on the other hand, doesn't approve. She isn't talking to him. She hasn't gone, you understand; she merely hovers, arms crossed beneath those _beautiful_ breasts, frowning.

Still, to his surprise, he finds he's rather looking forward to this bit.

VII.

Dee could just die. Or kill someone—Baltar for preference.

"Well, I warned you this would happen," he says, once the smattering of applause from the others in the shower has died down. "I'm heartbroken. Really."

"Get up," she demands furiously, holding her towel with one hand and jerking him up by his shirtsleeve with the other. He jumps to his feet far too eagerly and stands too close. She refuses to back down, which means she can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton.

"What, my song didn't please you?" He starts to go to one knee again. "I can sing another, if you like…"

Lords of Kobol, no. She puts her fingers over his lips. "No!" He kisses her hand and she jerks away. Everyone is still milling, pretending not to watch; somewhere in the back she hears a snigger. It sounds like Hotdog. Merciful Lords. She grabs Baltar's wrist and drags him out of the showers behind her.

Outside, she pushes him into the bulkhead. "Look, you've got to stop this!"

He puts his hand over hers, holding it to his heart. "How can I? I'm smitten."

"You're insane."

"If I am, it's only for love of you."

"And ridiculous." She rips her fingers out from under his and nearly loses her grip on her towel. She's not going to laugh this time. She's _not_.

She fumbles with it, and he takes the opportunity to grab the loose knot of fabric between her breasts and pull her into him. Not expecting it, Dee stumbles and ends up flat against his chest. It's surprisingly solid. "Why Officer Dualla," he murmurs huskily, his breath whispering warm over her lips. "We've got to stop meeting this way."

"Just _kiss_ him already!" Someone—is that Cally? She's going to kick her _so_ hard—catcalls from the doorway.

Dee feels heat rise from her toes to the crown of her head and she draws back, slowly, still looking into those long-lashed brown eyes.

"_Pass the word; Vice President Baltar, please report to the CIC."_ Gaeta's voice sounds out over the comm and startles her back into something like sanity. _Vice President Baltar, please report to the CIC._

Baltar gives her a crooked smile. "Another time, perhaps?"

Dee turns on her heel. "I don't think so."

VIII.

"It's kind of a goodwill tour, if you will," Laura Roslin explains, twirling her glasses by one arm. "Things in the fleet are so…"

"Unsettled?" he offers, impatient to have it over with. He already knows quite well that Roslin and Adama will never be friends of Gaius Baltar, no matter how much they need him.

She gives him her characteristic tight smile and he wonders exactly how long it's been since she's been frakked. That might loosen up that smile a bit. "Exactly. Confidence is at an all time low…"

"Which is really saying something," his Cylon shadow comments, insubstantial fingers curling ticklish over the curves of his ears.

"…and it's important we make a showing on behalf of the government that we are addressing the people's concerns."

Hmm. Nadine, the girl who'd graded his student papers for him in his days as a TA, had once said the only think quicker than his mind was his ability to turn a situation to his advantage. It's quite possibly the best compliment anyone's ever given him. "I would agree wholeheartedly, Madam President. However, if I may suggest…?"

Roslin tips her head at him and gives the rather unattractive squint that means she's trying to figure him out.

"I think it's not only the government who needs to make a show of good faith. Confidence in the military has never been lower, as well, particularly after the debacle with Admiral Cain."

Roslin touches her glasses to her lips, thoughtful.

"You have someone in mind?" Adama asks in his rusty voice.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Many of the smaller ships, the ones that weren't designed for this kind of haul are having communications problems. I thought perhaps Lieutenant Gaeta might be able to accompany me…"

"Lieutenant Gaeta is the Senior Officer of the Watch. We can't spare him for the kind of time this tour would require," Adama says flatly.

As Baltar fully expected he would.

Nonetheless, he fakes exasperation as he flings up his hands and says, "Well then, what about Petty Officer Dualla? I mean, she won't electrocute herself mucking about on a board, will she?"

He finds Adama much more difficult to read than Roslin; he bets the Commander plays a mean game of Triad and resolves never to find out. Nonetheless, Adama's reaction is the expected one. "Officer Dualla is exceptional in the performance of her duty," he bristles.

"Then she'll do Galactica proud," Roslin soothes calmly, ever the peacemaker.

"You think you're so smart, don't you, Gaius?" a voice murmurs silkily in his ear, followed by a sharp nip to the lobe. He can't help it; he yelps. "Sorry," he says quickly, pounding his chest with his fist. "Hiccups."

"We'll have a Raptor ready to escort you and Officer Dualla at 0700 tomorrow morning, Doctor," Adama says, his eyes narrowed. "Please be prompt."

"Certainly," he agrees pleasantly, leaning a little to see around the towering blonde now straddling his lap.

"Gaius, I won't be _ignored_," she declares, gripping his lapels.

"Looking forward to it," he adds.

IX.

_Oh, **come on**! You are **not** seriously lying here thinking about Gaius Baltar, are you? You could break him over one knee!_

But actually, that's sort of what makes it hot.

She thinks it was pushing him into the bulkhead that did it.

X.

"So I have you to blame for this crap detail." Dee nods, arms crossed. "Color me unsurprised."

"Oh come on," Baltar throws an arm companionably around her shoulders. She doesn't move away. He only does it to get a rise out of her. "You were _dying_ to get off that ship for a little while, and you know it."

Well, _yes_, she was, but that isn't the point. "Ivanek's going to totally screw up the board while I'm gone, there's going to be all kinds of dropped calls and miscues…" She shakes her head.

"I'm sure they'll muddle through." His fingers scratch idly at her shoulder through her blouse. She had a boyfriend once who used to do the same thing, and it drove her crazy. Now, it's been so long since she's been touched by anyone except Cottle—which does _not_ count—she doesn't mind as much. And it's minor enough that she can pretend she didn't notice. Or pretend to pretend. Whatever.

XI.

"_You do understand what I'm asking you to do here, Dee?" It takes familiarity to be able to parse emotion out of Commander—now Admiral—Adama's voice, but she has that. He's feeling guilty._

_Dee nods, hands clasped lightly behind her back. "Yes, sir. Accompany Vice-President Baltar on a goodwill tour of some of the smaller freighters of the fleet. Maintain a pleasant presence and perform any possible maintenance to increase fleet communication."_

_He eyes her narrowly, and she knows he's not sure whether to take her at face value or not._

_She gives him a look. "Sir, I'll be fine."_

_Adama nods._

XII.

"What a rust bucket," Baltar comments as he ducks into the comm. booth with her. As if it wasn't tight enough.

"The Euphrates is even older than Galactica," Dee observes as she sits up and wipes her forehead with the back of her wrist. There's dust on her fingers and up her nose. She wonders if _anyone_ has bothered to change out the comm. crystals before she got here today.

"It shows." Baltar wrinkles his nose, then leans back against the one tiny strip of bare bulkhead. She can't tell if he's looking at her mouth or her breasts, more available for viewing now that she's stripped out of her blouse. He brandishes an unmarked rectangle, produced from nowhere like a magician's trick. "However, they are a rust bucket with chocolate. I think Captain Reynolds was a smuggler, in another life."

"Really?" Dee wipes her hands on her trousers and holds her hand out for the bar.

Baltar holds it up, out of reach and shakes a finger at her. "Not so fast. Chocolate's a valuable commodity, to just _give_ it away; what will you give me in return?"

Dee rolls her eyes. "My grandmother warned me about strangers with candy."

"Hardly a stranger, darling."

"Don't call me darling."

"You didn't answer the question."

"What do you want?"

His eyebrow elevates in interest and the moment draws out. "A kiss," he says finally.

"A kiss?" she echoes. "Seems like you're getting very little out of the deal here, doc. As you said, chocolate's worth quite a bit in today's black market."

Baltar glances sideways as if there's someone beside her, but she knows there's nothing there but bulkhead and consoles. Then he squats, candy bar held almost disregarded in his hand. "So what are you offering?" he asks. His voice is a soft and husky purr that sends shivers through her skin like current.

She grabs his shirt placket and pulls him down. "I'm sure I can think of something."

XIII.

"How did it go, Dee?"

There's a bit of chocolate on her teeth. She licks it away before answering, "Just fine, sir."

"Does he trust you?" She looks at Adama, and he shakes his head ruefully. "Stupid question. Baltar doesn't trust anybody. Did you get to him, though?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she answers, a delicious little clench in her pelvis at the thought. "I think I've got him just where we want him."


End file.
